


Like Fire

by Haganeko (dainpdf)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Chronicles
Genre: Blood Tournament, F/F, Owens is worse, Riddle is terrible, Romance, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dainpdf/pseuds/Haganeko
Summary: Antiope has recently arrived at Hogwarts for the Blood Tournament, confident in her advantages: mastery of the dueling arts and immunity to the wiles of men. Much like many before, however, she did not account for the draw of a pretty redhead,,,
Relationships: Ginny/Antiope
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29
Collections: Rigel Black Exchange Round 2





	Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Astra_Across_the_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astra_Across_the_Stars/gifts), [DistractedDaydreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedDaydreamer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Futile Façade](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/715688) by murkybluematter. 



Antiope looked around the quaint little town, feeling the air of home for the first time in months. Much as she liked Greece, she was Scottish, and she missed the weather of the Highlands… at least while it wasn’t completely freezing, yet.

It was easy to find number 10b, Acacia Lane—there weren’t many streets in a place as small as Hogsmeade—as well as its elderly owner, a woman named Mrs. Clark who was “just next door if you need anything, dearie”. It had been a while since anyone had called Antiope “dearie”. It sounded odd to her ears.

She made herself comfortable in the small loft. There was heat and water, but, more importantly, there was a space behind the house where she could practice her swordsmanship away from prying eyes. All in all, a good place. She would have to thank Aunt Minerva.

–

The introductions were as awkward as she had expected. Antiope did not hold with all this stuffy business, all greetings and fake politeness. Competitors were expected to mingle and socialize, as if they were not each there to engage in a lethal contest against each other. Ridiculous.

Still, there Antiope was, and she saw herself talking to the other champions briefly. Owens looked a rotten sort, as much a viper as any of the politicians behind this contest. Delacour... Delacour looked _soft_ , too soft for a competition like this. Krum held his words; she’d have to watch him. And Black… Black was a diminutive thing, almost fresh off his mother’s breast.

Tahiil was much too honoured to be there to be a threat. Sousa did not seem interested in the competition at all. Shang was very confident, which merited some attention; the Middle Kingdom was known for its attention to those it sent abroad to represent it. Granger, on the other hand, was too much of a scholar. Besides being too young.

The interview went… poorly. There was no other way about it. It was more fierce a beast than any Antiope had faced, than any foe she had conquered in an arena. And that Skitter… something about her rubbed Antiope the wrong way. Vipers, vipers everywhere. There would be great honour in triumphing over them all.

–

She came while Antiope was training on a weekend. It was a calm Sunday, with a crisp, cool air, and she was just halfway through her morning exercise routine when she heard a twig snapping.

A redheaded girl came into view, stepping through the foliage in her Hogwarts Robes. A red tie… Aunt Minerva’s group? Antiope would have said she was the pretty type, were it not for the scuff marks on her robes. She glared at her. She did not need distractions.

“Out. I’ll have none of you Hogwarts students spying on me.” That may have come out too harsh. It would do.

“A spy, am I? How glamorous,” the girl replied. “Are you that concerned… Antiope, was it?”

Antiope scoffed. “No. Fine. Spy all you want. I’ll win this tournament no matter what dirty tricks you use.” And she would.

“Well I wouldn’t mind watching. I’ve never seen a swordswoman before.”

There was no further talking. Antiope focused on her training, ignoring the interloper.

–

The Stinging Hex almost caught her by surprise. Antiope blocked it with her sword and retaliated with her own stunner, even as she closed the distance. The girl backed up, firing some odd, greenish spell that almost hit Antiope’s foot. Antiope charged at her, bringing her sword up to the girl’s neck.

“I give, I give,” the girl said, raising her hands. She smirked. “I’m Ginny, by the way. Ginny Weasley.”

“Antiope. Now may I _please_ return to my training?”

“Why of course. I’ll be back.”

Weasley turned around and left. Antiope did not smile. She did _not._

–

The first task was a nightmare. Obstacle upon obstacle, compounded with the need to watch her back for her competitors and a deep forest to navigate. Antiope fought her way to the prize and back out with honour, but it was gruelling. She wondered if all her competitors had survived.

It had started well enough, of course. A few minutes in, however, she had been jumped by a mob of redcaps, which took some two minutes and a piece of her shin to repel. As soon as she finished, she heard a sound behind her and spun around, sword in hand, only to find the Tahiil boy. Had he been sneaking up on her? Since he had not approached her further, she had left him behind.

She passed by Black and Granger on her way. The two had—surely not!—what looked to be a werewolf trapped behind a shimmering barrier. When she asked, Black confirmed that, yes, the organizers had placed a _werewolf_ , of all things, in the forest, and that he and Granger had trapped it. Antiope would have to keep a closer eye on those two.

At the end, there was the Sphinx. The great creature had posed a riddle, but Antiope was not in this tournament to show wit, but mettle. She duelled the great winged lion and came out victorious. On her way out, she heard what she thought may have been a series of bombarding curses. Who had cast it? It mattered not. She made her way out.

–

“Good showing last week.”

Oh. Her again. Antiope ignored her. She couldn’t afford distractions. Not after how the first task had gone.

“What’s the matter? Sphinx got your tongue?”

Antiope looked up. That was a low blow.

Weasley smiled. “There you are. I watched your go at the task on the display.”

Antiope nodded. She imagined most of the school had, watching the display like her colleagues did at the arena back in Greece.

“It was pretty cool. Didn’t know you could fight a troll like that.”

Antiope shrugged. “I am a representative for my school. They would not have sent a weakling.”

There was silence again.

A few hours later, as Antiope finished, the girl was still there. Antiope smiled.

“Are you done?” Weasley asked.

Antiope stared. “I am done, yes. Show’s over, kid.”

“I am not a kid!” Weasley protested.

Antiope snorted.

“Anyway, are you busy now? I thought we might grab some lunch.”

“No.” Antiope turned and began to leave.

“I’ll duel you for it!” Came the voice. “Unless you’re scared?”

Antiope turned around. “You’re on.”

She charged ahead, sword raised in guard. Weasley fired a Disarming Charm at her, which she blocked, followed by an Impediment Jinx, which she sidestepped. Antiope fired back with a stunner, raising her blade for a swipe. Weasley blocked her spell—was that a duellist’s shield?—and narrowly dodged under her sword, then hit her with _something._

Antiope sputtered. She felt an odd sensation up her nasal cavities, almost like the build-up to a sneeze. What came out, however, was a bat. And another. She kept her wits to herself, however, and blocked the stunner that followed. She then crouched under the next spell and swiped with her leg, sending Weasley to the ground.

“Surrender?” Antiope asked.

“Yeah.” Weasley looked at her defiantly.

“Good.” Antiope offered her a hand up. “Let’s get lunch.”

“Let’s. Oh, and Antiope?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Ginny.”

–

Lunch at the Quaint Quaffle (Weasley’s recommendation) proved to be a pleasant affair… if one enjoyed Quidditch. Antiope was not herself a fan, but she had to admit that the sport had a certain charm to it, at least the way Weasley put it. It reminded her of her own passion for the art of duelling.

She had ordered the haggis and been surprised by its quality—it was certainly better than what she would have expected from the sports-themed bar. Weasley was eating a blood-sausage sandwich with great gusto, in a way that reminded Antiope of a feral cat. She was also drinking pumpkin juice, which Antiope found as puzzling as ever—she could not understand how Hogwarts students could stomach something so sweet.

Laughter to her left caught Antiope’s attention. A pair of girls sat there, sharing some bread and a bowl of dipping sauce. One of them, a blonde, whispered something in the other’s ear. The girl blushed, but scooted closer and rested her head on the first one’s shoulder. Antiope averted her gaze. She knew such… relationships were the norm in Britain, but could never get used to it.

There was something inscrutable in Weasley’s gaze when Antiope looked back to her.

–

The days grew shorter and colder, but Antiope did not falter in her training. Every morning, she went out to train her forms and spellwork. She must stay in top shape for the competition. All the classes she needed to take were in the afternoon, which was quite a boon for her schedule.

It was during such a training session that a sound to the side caught  Antiope’s attention. An argument of some kind. Was that  Weasle y ’s voice? S he made her way across the hedge and emerged upon a dirty blond student and her… friend?  Weasley ’s face was impassive, even as she addressed the young man. Antiope clenched her sword hand.

“…I have told you, McLaggen, that I do not fancy your attentions. Now do scamper before I need to hex you.” There was a glint in her eyes, something ferocious that made Antiope’s heart race.

The blond boy made a hasty retreat.

Antiope laughed. “And here I thought I’d have to scare that boy off you, W easley .”  Though she shouldn’t have — she had underestimated her once, and it had almost cost her a duel.

“It’s Ginny. And I can take care of myself.” Ginny grinned, and it sent a thrill through Antiope’s body. She was raring for a duel. “Why, I almost beat one of the champions of the tournament.”

“Put your wand where your mouth is, Ginny.”

“You’re on.”

They retreated through the hedge.

Antiope won four out of five duels, though Ginny got her once with a clever application of a shield disruptor before hitting her with that alarmingly fast Bat Bogey Hex of hers. Antiope looked at her, sweaty and victorious. A pity she didn’t attend Chalcioecus; she would have fit right in there.

“So, Antiope…”

Antiope blinked.  W easley looked almost nervous.

“Yeah? What’s eating you inside?”

“Would you go with me to the Yule Ball?”

Antiope stopped to think. She didn’t really intend on having any male company, and as a champion she did need a companion. “Sure. Glad to help a friend. Keep boys like that oaf off your back, yeah?” She grinned.

She must have imagined the hurt look on Ginny’s face.

\--

The second task was an elevated obstacle course. Antiope powered through trap after trap, relying on sharp instincts and quick reflexes. Until, at last, she was almost there. She jumped at the last platform and saw magic begin to take shape around her. She crouched immediately, even as she cast a disrupting wave ahead.

A barrier sprung into existence around her. Antiope cast a piercing spell even as it began to shrink around her. No effect. She cast a bombarding hex at the shimmering wall, but that did nothing to halt it. By now, she could not stand up. She attempted to transfigure the tile under her into a curved shape. Nothing. A diagnostic spell at the wall provided no results she could interpret, even as the inexorable dome began pressing against her skin. An overpowered severing charm did nothing. Nor did a ward disruptor.

It was getting hard to make wand movements by now. She attempted her sword, while there was still space to. No luck. The dome forced her into a kneel. She ducked her head, hoping to protect it. She felt her bones creaking with the pressure. Her muscles screamed with effort. She made a last attempt, a dissecting charm she had not completely mastered. It fizzled. A crack. Another. She did not scream.

Darkness, merciful oblivion, took her.

–

Antiope awoke defeated. Her ribs were mostly healed; the wound to her pride was not. Next to her bed, a familiar redhead sat on a chair.

“You’re awake!”

Antiope winced. She was not prepared for this. “Weasley, I—” She did not know what to say.

“It’s Ginny,” she began, almost as a reflex. “I was worried. I saw that dome crushing you. I thought you might die!”

“I didn’t. But I might as well have.” She would surely drift to the bottom of the rankings. She had dishonoured her school with her performance.

“Don’t say that!” Ginny looked torn between anger and sadness. “Don’t say that.”

“I am last, aren’t I?”

“You’re not, actually. Not many got as far as you did.”

It was cold comfort, but she took it.

“Are you hungry? The mediwizards said you could eat normally by now if you felt like it.” Ginny offered her a plate with some food in it.

It was a new experience to Antiope. Back in Greece, injured students were treated, yes, but not coddled. She hated to admit it, but it felt… nice, having company right now. Antiope ate in silence, the feeling of  Ginn y’s presence as comforting as the weight of her sword at her hip.

–

Antiope threw herself into training. She must be stronger, quicker, better. The tournament was not yet over for her, but she must make a good showing in the next task if she was to stand a chance. If she was to bring honour back to her school.

These doubts hung like a cloud over her head, tormenting her and dulling her instincts. Antiope thought back to her previous performance. Not only had she failed to overcome the dome, she had panicked. And then she’d been hurt. And then…

Antiope shook her head. Her stay at the hospital had been in her mind too much lately. She focused on her forms. Later today, she would revise her spellwork, which had been clearly insufficient. There was no time to spare thinking of company, especially that of new acquaintances. Antiope had never thought herself the needy type, but it seemed she’d been missing the company of her peers entirely too much.

T he sound of crunching snow brought her out of her reverie. Antiope looked up to find Ginny there, wrapped in heavy winter robes. Something about the sight of her like that, buried in her garments, made Antiope’s insides soften. She’d never figured herself for the type to squeal over cute things, but there was a quality to the image that made her want to.

A snowball hit her. Ginny let out a peal of laughter. “Distracted, are you?”

“You’re on.” Antiope packed her own snowball, sword forgotten for a moment.

It turned out that years away from home had dulled her edge, but she had the advantage of stamina and reflexes. By the time the sun was high, they were both tired, sweaty, and thoroughly pelted with snow. And Antiope was happy.

–

When Antiope heard the third task was a duelling tournament, she warmed with anticipation. Now here was something she could sink her teeth into. No riddling sphinxes, no cowardly traps, just two warriors and their mettle in an arena.

Her  excitement only intensified once her p etition to be allowed to use her sword was granted . Coming from a British tournament, she had expected the organizers to insist on what they named “formal duelling” — that is, stiff spell-flinging for those too afraid to get into a real fight. She had not been alone in her expectations.

The tournament was, of course, as biased as always; the brackets were arranged just so as to give the two most competent purebloods, Krum and Black, the best chances of proceeding to the finals… if Black could get past her, which he wouldn’t.

Antiope eyed the stands. It seemed like most of the students were there, watching. Much like those of Chalcioecus, the students of Hogwarts would wish to witness the glory or ignominy of their champion. She located Weasley almost immediately, sandwiched as she was between two almost identical boys Antiope guessed to be her brothers Fred and George.

–

The first duel, between Granger and Sousa, was quite boring. Granger had some neat tricks up her sleeve, but she was timid. If Sousa had put any effort at all into it, he could have beaten her. Transfiguration skills couldn’t make up for lack of aggressiveness.

Antiope savoured the Beauxbatons girl’s mixed fear and scorn when she revealed that, yes, she would be bringing her sword to their match. It was good to make these posh “proper wizards” eat their pretty words in an arena.

Then Granger was up and flirting with Krum. More distractions. Antiope wouldn’t let herself get into such a situation—she’d always been mystified by women who let themselves be distracted by the wiles of men.

Krum went down to his own duel, with the Zahi boy. It was an interesting match-up, though Antiope thought Krum was favoured. Zahi used odd spells, such as a barrier he made with his hands, but Krum seemed to have the superior repertoire and tactics, as he proved when he changed the battlefield into ice and began skating. Antiope would need to keep that trick in mind—it would mess with her footwork as well.

Then Zahi revealed an animagus form and proceeded to thoroughly trounce Krum… but assumed victory too soon. _Mistake_ , thought Antiope. Lowering his guard did cost the boy, since Krum took advantage and proceeded to wrestle his hyena form into submission.

And so it came to Antiope’s own duel. She charged at Delacour as soon as the match began; she dodged one hastily-cast spell, then another, and a third. Then she was upon her, swinging her sword in an arc. She gave chase as Delacour retreated, backswing ready even as she adjusted her stance for when her opponent dodged.

Antiope pushed her steadily to the rim of the arena, where there would be no dodging back. As she prepared a quick stab, however, Delacour conjured an earthen wall between them. Before Antiope could get around it, the wall exploded, covering her in shallow cuts and debris.

By the time she was up, Delacour had conjured a large shimmering shield of magic. Antiope grinned. This was how she liked her opponents—on the defensive, running scared. She charged again and gave Delacour no room to breathe, testing her defence with blow after blow, searching for a weakness. She could end it quickly, of course, but there was no need to reveal all her abilities just yet.

It came when Antiope saw her opponent slow down a fraction, clearly tired. She took her sword into a two-handed grip and hit the shield with all her might, easily slicing through it and cutting into Delacour’s arm. She pointed her sword at the girl’s heart and shook her head. She could hear the audience faintly. She grinned and looked for Weasley, a triumphant smile on her face.

–

The next duel was a thing of marvel. Shang was clearly well-trained, and knew her forms well; Black, on the other hand, showed an ease and grace of movement that spoke of great experience in the arena. If Antiope didn’t know better, she would have thought the boy was practised in free duelling.

Shang’s style relied on environmental and elemental charms, combined with superb footwork that allowed her to sidestep most spells. She was trying to tire Black out. He, on the other hand, seemed to rely on quick casting and very strong magic—Antiope had heard he had broken through the barrier that had defeated her with a burst of wild magic—while closing the distance. In the end, Black simply overpowered the Shang girl. Technique could only do so much against an experienced opponent who was also more powerful.

Antiope took note of Black’s transfiguration of mud into dry soil—he had further depths than he’d displayed now. He didn’t even look winded, really, despite all the casting he’d done.

The next match-ups were announced. Once more, the muggleborns were to face each other, and Antiope was to face Black. An exciting prospect. Weasley, Black… this school did possess some true gems, despite its backwards policies. Diamonds in the rough, perhaps.

As the first match of the second round began, Antiope immediately noticed that Owen was very well trained. The way he pushed Granger back reminded Antiope of how she had dealt with Delacour. Granger took advantage of taking a low-risk Tarantallegra to turn the tables, but it was too little, too late. Owens could deal with her onslaught a lot better than she could his; his shielding technique was impressive.

Granger tried conjuring animals. Antiope did not see it working, not after she had shown her skill at it in her last fight. Owens threw what Antiope thought might be a Severing Curse at the conjured dogs, and Granger flinched. A mistake Owens punished: he bombarded the girl with explosive hexes and curses, forcing her back until her shield finally failed. Once she was down, he approached and fired a Knockback Jinx at her midsection. Dishonourable. Antiope scoffed.

Black seemed quite affected by it. He seemed to have forgotten Antiope’s earlier warning: they were here to fight each other, perhaps to the death. Being this easily riled up would not serve him well. Thankfully, he managed to focus himself before their match. A destabilized opponent was not a worthy one.

Once again, Antiopecharged him as soon as the fight began. He banished a conjured net at her. A fine effort, but not something she couldn’t handle. She cut through it with ease and raised her guard without losing a step. His next offering was an Obscuring Mist; not knowing what trap he may be setting, Antiope stopped and retaliated with a Thundering Hex.

Before her spell even hit the ground, Black had reappeared underfoot. Antiope swung at him, but he had a Fortified Shield at the ready, which flung her back. He followed up with three stunners in quick succession, but Antiope was faster. She dodged them all and retaliated with an unterhau, which Black blocked with… his hand?

The boy’s glove—gauntlet, more like—protected him, and he took advantage of Antiope’s momentary confusion to throw another stunner at her. He was fond of these, she noticed. Antiope dodged with a backbend, more out of sheer trained reflexes than anything else, and threw out a kick to force him back.

“Incredible,” Black said, as she got up.

“Shut up,” she offered back. She had almost lost, just then. The boy was good. And scratch her earlier observation—he _was_ certainly trained in fighting free-duelists.

Antiope threw an Explosive Charm at him as a test. Perhaps he was not as good at a distance as he was in close quarters, though there was little chance of that after his match against Shang. The boy didn’t even blink before reflecting it back at her. She adjusted mentally. She had thought to keep her full capabilities for the finals, but if she were to underestimate Black she would not _get_ to the finals.

She changed her sword to a two-handed grip and charged again. Good as Black might be in close quarters, she was _better_. Just before she was upon him, she fired a stunner from the wand pressed against the hilt. Black raised a shield to block it, and Antiope grinned. Her sword sliced right through the shield, and the boy was forced into a hasty dodge to avoid it.

Black sprinted away, then eyed her warily. He fired a few Impediment Jinxes at her, which she easily dodged, even as she closed the distance. She dodged his follow-up Disarming Charms, one of which was trickily Banished, as well as a Full Body Bind. And then she was upon him once more, slashing from the right.

He blocked her sword with his gauntlets _again_. Antiope groaned a curse. She switched up tactics, pulling back for a swipe from the left, which he’d find harder to block with his wand arm. Black moved his entire body, throwing his arm in the path of her sword even as he tossed his wand to the left and cast a Disarming charm at Antiope, forcing her to shield with her left hand.

There was a moment’s pause, as the spell connected, then Antiope was knocked back with a pained grunt as Black, taking advantage of her lapse to cast a Fortified Shield. She chided herself mentally. When would she stop underestimating him? She stabilized her stance and returned to form, casting spells and raining blows on Black much as she had with Delacour. She could see him tiring, second by second. He began to favour his right hand.

Antiope felt momentarily weightless as a sudden explosion of wind flung her away. That was what he had done to Shang, she recalled. No matter; it had done little harm to her, and she would soon be upon him again. She got up, preparing to charge at the boy kneeling on the floor.

And then it seized her. A terrible feeling, gripping her every limb as her heart hammered in her chest. Was this a curse? She had not been hit by anything. She saw Black move toward her and tried to move, but her limbs would not respond. For a long, frozen moment, she watched helplessly as he took hold of her sword and threw it to the ground. And then it passed.

Antiope summoned her sword, but it would not budge. Then Black was upon her, and it was a flurry of movement. He cast jinxes and charms blazingly quickly; it was a wonder so many overpowered stunners did not drain him to his knees. Antiope shielded and gave as good as she got, but she knew where this was leading. She’d seen what had happened to Shang. Her shield eventually faltered, and, when it did, Black was ready for it. He bound her in conjured ropes and took her wand in his hands. The match was called.

She eyed him as he returned her wand, frustration and anger warring within her. “What kind of dirty trick was that, Black?” She asked.

“I drew a rune in your blood,” Black answered, indicating a spot of congealed blood on the arena. From when her nose had broken, she realised. “It wasn’t shed willingly, but that doesn’t mean it holds no power.”

Understanding dawned on her. _Runes._ Men’s magic. And blood magic. She pointed her wand at the spot and shot a Scouring Charm at it. She’d have to keep it in mind. “They don’t teach us runes at Chalcioecus,” she told him. “Aside from the trick, you fought well. This wasn’t your first time facing a weaponed duellist.”

Black made a face, but quickly smoothed it over. What did he think, that she was going to spread rumours of his deviance from that poor mockery they called formal duelling in these parts? Antiope moved on. She was out. She felt… hollow. Even in duelling, she had been bested. Was empty bravado all she had?

Her eyes were naturally drawn to a streak of red among the spectators. She saw a hand wave down in her direction, and she smiled. At least she had made a friend. She was free, now. Free to head on up, away from the champions’ box and among the spectators. Her feet led her up, up and towards those warm brown eyes.

G inny met her halfway. No words, just a wave and an invitation to sit. And sit she did. She was sweaty, tired, bruised, and defeated, but right now, right here, it didn’t feel so bad. She would recover. There was a presence by her side that made her feel sure of that.

Antiope was broken from her reverie by the announcement of the next match: Krum versus Black. She grinned. Since he had taken away her opportunity to trounce Krum, the least Black could do was give her a good show. She watched as both boys bowed to each other and Krum immediately began casting. It was solid strategy—Black had just faced a tough opponent and should be tired.

Somehow, she couldn’t focus on the match for long. There was a tightness in her that wouldn’t let her, a bundle  of energy that seemed to reside in the back of her throat. She was hyper aware in a way that she generally associated with combat.  She could feel  Ginny next to her intensely, as if she were hot coal.

Applause shook the arena.  In the arena below, a harried Krum had been defeated by a well-placed  stunner. Black did like those. Antiope looked around. Was this what Lord Riddle wanted? To parade this pureblood before the whole country as a symbol of his rotten ideology? It seemed to be working, and the thought was a bitter one. Want or not, she was a half-blood, and Scottish. She’d have to deal with this, or move abroad.

Black seemed oblivious to it all, like he couldn’t believe he was there. How innocent was he? Was he a pawn in the Ministry’s hand, drawn into this show under false pretence, or was he an accomplice, and the innocence an artifice? Antiope did not know.

–

Antiope pulled out all the stops for the Yule Ball. If she was going out, then she may as well do it in style. A golden gown, cut to allow easy movement, would match her hair in Gryffindor colours—the colours of Aunt Minerva’s House… and Ginny’s. Her short hair she styled into a windswept do that gave her a feral look she appreciated.

She met Ginny before the doors of the Halls. She was resplendent in her own golden robes, accented crimson on the rim and lopsided so as to allow sight of her left shoulder. Antiope almost missed a step.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” Ginny greeted her with a smile.

Antiope took a breath. “Hey there,” she managed. What was this? What was she feeling?

There was no time to think. They were quickly sent out to the hall and into the dance floor, where Ginny began slowly l eading her to a song,  Antiope . What the song was, Antiope couldn’t say. All she could feel was the press of those hands against her, all she could see those eyes the colour of molten chocolate, all she could hear the thrum of her pulse.

After an instant that lasted an eternity, it was over. Ginny tugged Antiope away from the floor, for which she was thankful; Riddle was gathering the “true” champions of his contest. She could hear him clearly, despite the distance, as he went on about crowning the Blood Representatives.

And then it was Owens’s turn; he pulled no punches, saying he looked forward to serious competition. It stung somewhere deep inside Antiope. Her vision misted over even as she felt rage burn inside her. What right did he have to diminish the effort she had put into this competition? Her right hand twitched, reaching for the missing sword at her side.

Then Ginny hugged her, enveloping her in her arms, pressing her close. Antiope froze, then relaxed. She breathed in deeply, trying to take in Ginny’s strength. They stood like that, in an out-of-the-way alcove, for what seemed like forever. And then… then she was looking at Ginny’s eyes, so close to her. She could feel her breath, hot against her skin.

“Ginny…” she managed.

Ginny’s hand moved up from her back, cupping Antiope’s cheek. It felt like every nerve in her body was firing at once, each one registering the heat of her touch.

Another eternal moment passed, and Ginny’s mouth was pressed against hers, hot and soft and _hungry_. Antiope’s mind seemed to grind to a halt, even as she returned the kiss. Her lips parted slightly, feeling the taste of Ginny’s lips on her tongue. She pushed herself against her, losing herself in that embrace, willing herself to melt into those arms around her, that chest pressed into hers.

Much too short a time passed before it was over, leaving her gasping for air. And staring at that grin on Ginny’s face. That brave, devious, delicious grin.


End file.
